Blood Stained Soul
by Autunno
Summary: War ran through his veins, giving life to the monster deep inside, caged by his own bones. It was not something to run from, but not something to kill. It had eternal life. Immune to death's blade. Inspired by: What Have I Become - All Good Things


He walked his halls with a somber stride, muscles coiled as if he was still in the battle that took place just last week. Peace felt heavy and unstable. Like a childhood dream that became harder and harder to picture as time rolled on.

The sacrifices he made had taken a large toll, something that went undetected on the battlefield. Without it, the weight settled on his shoulders and he found himself sleeping little. Meals were left mainly untouched. A coldness frosted his demeanor making him distant and unresponsive to idle chit chat.

The king, only still a boy by the Lower World's standards, had blocked the sun out. Harden his heart. He let his soul darken. He alone took the brunt of winter's fury to allow his people to feel the warmth. To let them bask in the sun, he had to stand in eternal night.

He grinded his teeth, doing his best to not crack the walls with white knuckles. Tear down every door in this godforsaken palace just to let the spirits of the damned out walls. Break the furniture into oblivion, just to have something blast louder in his ears than the war cries mingled with the sobs of the grieving.

Caging the rage spurred by the construction he passed - projects that wouldn't have been necessary had he done a better job - he clenched his fists once more, took a deep breath, and tried to release the tension that coated his body. It was like paint, sticking to his skin and leaving an icky sensation to crawl across his body.

War was war. Damage could never be avoided.

The garden silently welcomed him with serenity. Wind rustled the bushes and trees, sometimes blowing hard enough to play with the streams.

Clear water reflected wild, red hair, dark eyes, and a chiseled face masked with anger. Did he always look so angry? So out of control?

Irritated, he tried to tame his hair but his attempts only made the strands stick out haphazardly. Worse than before. His face contorted further, anger rising in his eyes. Made himself look like a madman with a grudge against the world.

He kicked at the bank of the stream, dirt disturbing the water. Childishly, he stalked off, hiding in the foliage should anyone be out and about this early in the morning.

What he needed was a cage. A cage to stuff the anger and the pain and every little nightmare away. To place the craziness out of reach. He needed to push it down, to focus. A cage could do that. A cage-

He slammed his forehead against the bark and let it bite into his flesh. What had he become that he needed to cage himself up? That he was no longer in control and instead, was breaking at the seams? That he needed a cage? A cage! Of all things, a king, one who gave so much for his people, had to cage _himself_!

Pupils dilated and nostrils flared, he raised a fist, fully intending to blast the tree in front of him.

He stopped. The answer came to him somehow easily. War ran through his veins, giving life to the monster deep inside, caged by his own bones. It was not something to run from, but not something to kill. It had eternal life. Immune to death's blade.

The things he had done stained his soul red. No amount of peace negotiation would ever wash that away.

Stepping back out into the opening, he watched as the world continued to move on. The sun rose from beneath the clouds, but the golden rays did nothing to warm him.

No, a soft call of his name from above did that, followed by timid steps down where he stood.

Her soul held a light to it. White and pure. He knew that even it, as beautiful as it was, could turn to a dark, depressing blue.

If she could see, even for a split second, how dark his had become, she might have changed course. The last time she had seen his soul, it had been bright and a warming yellow. Dark, blood red ran deep now like a disgusting stain.

She didn't run but place her hand on his arm to gain his attention. Her face gave way to two emotions: humor and pity. The playful tug on his hair let him know what she was giggling at his messy mop of hair but when it moved to trace just underneath his eyes, her mirth died out. Her eyes narrowed at the scrape on his forehead.

With an empathetic smile, she led him back to his room and pushed him inside to sleep some more. She gave a mock salute before guarding his doors, as she promised, from anyone who might wake him.

He smiled at that. And his soul became just a bit brighter.


End file.
